Well, well, it is time.

With a triumphant slam, my British Lit. term paper is on the teacher's desk. It is a trophy now, a slain carcass of some loathsome beast composed of Thesaurus-derived words, highlighted sources and a stench of protocol that could only have been applied by the Modern Language Association. The paperclips that bind it together are now like the bones of a monster that dared to challenge my prowess in the art of last-ditch efforts. Hell, knowing that my reward for completing it would mean eternal laziness for the rest of the school year on my part, the damn term paper should have seen its defeat coming!

And so it is done.

My brain is off now. I am on a high that only comes once and lasts four short months - May, June, July, and August - a high that accompanies a high school senior after showing failure the floor. Hello, summer, and hello, college. My school has instantly turned from a nightmarish gulag without air-conditioning to a moist sauna, a drastic and ironic change in aspect that is all a part of my head but only more beautiful because of it. The girls who once seemed prude are now spewing forth the truths about their sexual encounters, much to the amazement of the guys, who haven't stopped lying about theirs.

If any of your classes were shared with juniors, you're already gone. Just take a seat in the back corner and sleep. Hell, whatever, just sleep in all of your classes. And get used to it, too, because that's the way it's gonna be until you get an internship three years from now and don't know what to do with it.

Though there is no academic pressure aloof in the school, there may be one issue still at hand; remember all that stuff you and your friends used to talk about at the lunch table? All those pranks you'd plan up and laugh about and say, "Oh, man, last day of school, we're TOTALLY gonna do that!"� Well, big man? Where's the prank? You gonna do it or not? Tough question. Will it jeopardize graduation? Will it cost detention over summer, or even arrest by officials? Does anyone really care? Well, that depends. On the one hand, the year's almost over and no one really seems to be interested anymore. On the other hand, a prank's a prank, and you said you'd TOTALLY do it. Besides, it's worth it to get back at the vice-principal for busting you for smoking. I say do it.

The one bad part about the last month of school is that every day, when I'm trying to sleep, I hear at least one "God, I can't wait till we're gone, I honestly can't stand to see anyone here ever again." Well, thanks for saying that and including me, douche bag. In the first week of next semester, when your sleeping pattern has been reduced to that of a carpenter ant and your creepy sociology-major roommate casts sneers at you as he reads his Lech Walecha pamphlets and readjusts his scarf, you'll probably miss gay old high school.

But I won't, suckers.